The Legend of Spyro: Into Dusk
by Halcyon15
Summary: Seven years after Dawn of the Dragon, when the original servants of Malefor are freed, Spyro must change to fight his old enemy. He must adapt and fight those who mean to kill him and all he holds dear.


The two cheetahs were silent as they were driven deeper into the mountain. The mine cart they sat in had been outfitted with seats, but still, it wasn't terribly comfortable. Both of them sat, patient, their ears barely shorter than the stone tunnel their mine cart traveled down. They made an odd pair, a slender blue and a bulky red.

Rowan, the blue, sneezed. "Blasted coal dust," he muttered. "You think we're almost there, Ashwood?" he asked the dark red. Ashwood shrugged. A warrior of few words, he stared ahead, calm, composed. They were both excellent warriors, which was why they were sent to this isolated mountain. Though why they needed top-notch warriors to guard a single prisoner, that was beyond him.

Finally, he spoke. "It appears we're slowing." Slowing meant eventually stopping, hopefully. Rowan's feet were getting numb. He fidgeted, earning a glare from Ashwood. And then they both stared as the tunnel opened up.

Their mine cart tracks continued on a natural stone bridge, but the cavern was huge. Far underneath, a huge glassy expanse glinted in dim torchlight. An underground lake. Rowan leaned over the edge to peer down into the depths. Ashwood just sighed.

Their cart slowed to a complete stop in front of a well-lit platform, a natural outcropping with a door cut into it. Rust showed on the dull steel as the door opened. Rowan and Ashwood hopped out and saluted, as they had been instructed. Two other cheetahs -the ones they were replacing- walked out, followed by something Rowan had never seen, only heard of.

A human. He wore some sort of robe, and instead of fur, he had ebony skin. His nose was strange, and his ears weren't at the top of his head. As he turned, Rowan did realize he had fur, more like a tail. The hair went down to the man's back. He glared at Rowan.

"Stop staring!" Ashwood hissed. Rowan nodded. Ashwood simply rolled his eyes. He seemed to be doing a lot of that around Rowan.

"Please, this way," the man -with a surprisingly musical voice- said. He slipped through the steel door. A second later, two other cheetahs came through the door. They didn't even glance as they both hopped into the cart, pulled a lever, and sped off.

"He's a human!" Rowan said excitedly. "I thought they went extinct!" He looked excitedly at his friend.

"I thought so too," Ashwood said in a quiet voice. His eyes were distant.

"Will you hurry up?" the man asked irascibly from behind the door. "Any longer and I _will_ be extinct!" The two cheetahs opened the door and entered a low-ceilinged room. A few candles cast flickering light across row after row of steel breastplates. "Glad you finally decided to join me. Take these," he said, tossing them two spears.

Rowan grabbed his. Supple yew-wood, a clean, rust-free spearhead, this was a fine weapon indeed! "Nice craftsmanship," Ashwood remarked. "It must have cost a fair sum for two spears like this." He twirled the shaft idly, taking care to not let the leaf-shaped blade touch the ground.

"We have several dozen," the man said. Rowan and Ashwood exchanged glances. _Several dozen_? Who were these people? "My name is Hanan," he said. "I am the Warden at Nine Peaks." His voice lowered. "That name is secret. You will never mention it outside this mountain? Understand?" They both nodded. "Good."

"Now," he continued, "a few rules. You are not to come in without your weapon and armor. You are not to enter the cellblock without your weapon and armor. If I ever catch you without your spear or plate, you will wish you were never born. Do I make myself clear?" he asked. Rowan nodded. He definitely didn't want to cross Hanan. Despite the lilt in his voice, it carried a sense of finality about it.

"Also, you are not to speak to the prisoner. You are not to touch her, or enter her cell. In fact-"

"Wait," Ashwood interrupted. "Our prisoner's a woman?" Inwardly, Rowan groaned. Ashwood had gotten in trouble more than once for his...old-fashioned view of women. Many a village wife had thumped him on the head after he said something stupid. "What could she have _possibly_ done?" he asked incredulously.

"Murder and high treason," Hanan said matter-of-factly. "Now, as I was saying, you are not to speak to her, or even acknowledge her existence, or come in close contact to her. When her meal is served, you push it to her with the butt of your spear." He glared at them both, before motioning to several behind them. "Let's get you some good plate. You have a prisoner to guard."

* * *

><p>Rowan fidgeted in his armor as they walked down the rough-hewn tunnel. There was always that one part of the armor that <em>pinched. <em>And it always was in that one uncomfortable spot.

Hanan stalked down the corridor. His dark eyes darted to and fro, taking in everything. Those eyes were steel, sharp and relentless. The eyes of a killer. Rowan shivered slightly.

There was another door, this time made of copper. The glowing metal must have been old; verdigris stained the hinges of the door. "Beyond this door lies the prisoner," Hanan said, stopping. "Remember the rules. They might save your life." And with that, Hanan opened the door.

The prison cell itself was rather crude. It was a cave, small and cramped, with barely enough room for a person, much less a dragon, copper bars blocking the entrance. There were no torches; instead, light came from two giant green crystals, growing from the sides of the wall, almost facing each other. Copper bars ran through the green crystals in some places.

Rowan tapped one of the crystal shafts, producing a clear, musical chime. "What are these things?"

Hanan glared at Rowan. "Dragon crystals. Don't touch." He swatted at Rowan's paw for good measure. "They're high magic, wrought over a thousand years ago by a master Earth dragon. Blood can unmake it, so be careful near it." He paused for a moment. "Actually, it would be better if you didn't go near it at all," he amended.

"Why do you have it here?" Rowan asked

Hanan opened his mouth to answer, but he never got the chance. "They keep me powerless," a melodious voice said from deep in the cell. "Of course, you can help me. Just a few drops of lifeblood, and you save me. It wouldn't hurt much, only the slightest of pains." Her voice was so sweet, so smooth despite ages of incarceration. So rich and pure...her voice was sweet rapture. All Rowan wanted to do was hear her voice...

Hanan grabbed Rowan by the ear and dragged him out of the cell, Ashwood following him with concern in his eyes. Hanan slammed the door closed, and then turned back. Oddly enough, while he seemed angry when he dragged Rowan out, his face held none of that former anger. "Rowan, take a deep breath. Try to remember what happend."

Rowan nodded. "She said that the crystals kept her powerless. And then she said I could help set her free." Rowan shook his head. "I wanted to! I can't explain it, but I-"

Hanan quieted him. "If anything, the blame lies on me. I did not expect her to resort to her Song so quickly." He sighed. "She's what we call a Siren. Capable of exerting control over someone with her voice. Rowan, she was exerting all her power on you, trying to get you to unmake that crystal. You nearly did it too."

Ashwood looked at Hanan. "Surely, there must be a way too fight it," he said.

Hanan nodded. "Take a deep breath and think of a fond memory. That should disrupt the effects." He opened the door. "Now, I think it's time for you to meet Syla." He glared at the dark cell, the green crystals casting harsh shadows on his harsher face. "Syla! Show yourself!"

The shadows shifted, and she grasped the bars with pale, human hands. "You show me off like a show horse," she said, her once-heavenly voice now filled with seething, venomous hatred. "I can't wait until the day comes when I'm free. Your screams will deafen your own ears! I'll drown you in your own blood and tears!" She sunk to the ground, her ravings collapsing into sobs.

Her body was small, pale, and clothed in a filmy white garment . Around her neck was a copper collar, a chain leading off into the darkness. Her head-fur -hair, Hanan called it- was splayed across her shoulders in dark tangles. Hanan grabbed her collar. "Look! The eldest of dragons can change their shape and wear other skin, but their eye cannot change! Look!"

Rowan gasped, and Ashwood took a step back. Where the whites of the eyes should have been, there was a sulfurous yellow. The vibrant green iris had a slitted pupil, like a viper. They burned with a bottomless hatred that could never be quenched.

"You rat!" Syla screamed. "You miserable wretch! I can't wait to end your life!" She sank back into sobbing. She pulled herself back into the shadows, away from the gentle emerald light.

Rowan looked around. "So, besides watching our prisoner, there's nothing else to do? Seems too simple." He remained silent.

Hanan nodded. "It is pretty easy." His eyes narrowed. "That, however, doesn't mean that you can shirk your duties!" He gave them one final scowl, and slammed the door.

"Lovely," Rowan said. "Now we're stuck here with this psycho." He leaned against the wall.

"This 'psycho' has a name, you know," Syla said in a hoarse voice. She pulled herself up towards the bars, her sulfurous eyes surprisingly clean of hate. Now, it was simply indifference. "Hanan is cruel. I only put on the psycho act for him." She shrugged, eerily calm. "Would you act any different?"

Rowan started to answer, but Ashwood glared at him. "Hanan said no talking. Remember?"

Syla chuckled. "Ah, I forgot. You're new recruits." Her voice was still hoarse and harsh. "Everyone ignores it." She rubbed her throat. "Can I have some water?" Rowan didn't do anything. "They don't give me enough, you know. It gets thirsty, in this cell. The stone has some salt veins or something. Makes it unbearably dry." She sat and didn't move. "Please?"

Rowan slipped his waterskin off. He tossed it to her. Grabbing it greedily, she began to gulp down water, letting it run down her chin. "Thank you," she said, pushing the waterskin to Rowan's feet. "You're the first to show me kindness."

* * *

><p>Rowan glared at Syla. It was the third day, and since she had drank his water, she hadn't said a word. Rowan loathed silence, and her quiet acceptance of her imprisonment disturbed him. No one should ever just <em>accept<em> that they lost freedom. But she did, day in, day out.

"What do you do?" Rowan finally asked. She looked up, almost startled by his question. Those eyes...they gave him nightmares.

"I remember." She sunk back, and was silent again. Rowan glared at her. She _remembered_?

"What do you remember?" This time, it was Ashwood that asked.

"Pain. Oh, the pain..." She collapsed back into sobs.

Rowan walked up to the front of the bars. "What's wrong?" he asked. Ashwood put a hand on Rowan's shoulder, to pull him back. And then she struck.

She grabbed his hand, Ashwood's hand, and twisted, forcing them to swing. Rowan felt a line of fire burn down his forearm as one of the delicate crystal spires tore through his flesh. Ashwood grunted in pain.

Syla let go, and they spun, grabbing spears and raising them at her. She rose, slowly, a grim smile on her lips. The green crystals dulled, their light dying as a few drops of blood dripped off them. "Thank you. I'm free, thanks to you." She laughed, and swung her hands.

Wind with the strength of a gale slammed into Rowan, crushing him against the wall. Pain blossomed as his head struck the wall. Falling limply to the ground, he tried to reach for his spear. But his hand didn't work. As his vision faded, he saw her open the door. And then it all faded to black.

* * *

><p>She was <em>free<em>!

Syla stalked the corridors, a creature of shadow, a wolf on the hunt. It had been centuries since she had been free. Centuries, where the world had probably crumbled around her. But that wasn't important. Her Master hadn't come to save her, which meant he had not succeeded. But one failure meant another success must be worked for. Her Master had laid plans that spanned centuries, and then wove more complex plans to ensure his survival. She'd hear the next plan, but first, she had to get out of the mountain.

She opened another door, and came face to face with Hanan. "I've waited for this day, Hanan," she said. Then, she didn't use Wind. She used Poison. It was one of the elements her Master had blessed her with. Hanan fell screaming, to the ground. She moved past him, onward, to the door.

To freedom.

* * *

><p><strong>Author's Note: The shapeshifting comes from other myths about dragons, mostly Korean myths. The abilities Syla showed, able to manipulate her element -Wind- comes from a picture from The Eternal Night, where Malefor was creating electricity with his fist. And now, the real story begins.<strong>


End file.
